Like A Phoenix
by Shivariya
Summary: Reincarnation, as I soon found out, was a bitch. OC
1. Chapter 1

Tittle: Like a Phoenix

Summary: Reincarnation, as I soon found out, was a bitch.

* * *

Chapter 1: Prologue

"_The phoenix must burn to emerge_." ~ Janet Fitch

* * *

My name is Elizabeth Stormbrew, and I'm going to tell you a story.

The thing is, before I was Elizabeth, I was someone else entirely. Who I was, well...that hardly matters anymore. That's not something anyone knew though. If you asked anyone that knew me, they could confirm that I had only ever been 'Elizabeth' then probably direct you to the nearest hospital if you suggested otherwise.

The most logical explanation that came to mind, but that I still can't bring myself to believe, was reincarnation. I guess I had just been lucky to not be reborn some sort of insect only to be stepped on.

But it still boggled my mind, because _I _remembered. I wasn't anything special. I had been from an average family. I had had a brother and sister, a mother and father. I had recently attained a high school degree, a normal job before I headed off to collage, and no relationship. Nothing outstanding at all. Probably no one even noticed when I died.

But that didn't change the fact I _remembered._

And so, I was born to Robert and Rebecca Stormbrew in their home on the 20th of March, 1980. Being said like that, it sounds so unbelievable. An amazing miracle. But it wasn't amazing. It really, really wasn't.

Being born is horrible. I didn't know what was happening, or if I was okay. Was I dead? Gravely injured? I couldn't tell. Not knowing _terrified_ me. I was cold, I was scared. So I did the only thing I could. I cried, and I screamed. I did it so much I'm surprised I didn't cough up a lung or something.

The eyes of newborn babies aren't very developed. Everything's a blur. And that's what it was like for me. It just added to my confusion and fear. I exhausted myself from crying so much, that by the time I was taken to my new home, I didn't think I could ever cry as much. Slowly, I was becoming acostumed to the changes in my body, though I didn't know what had changed. I just knew I was smaller.

There was also something new inside me, something that had never been there before. Only as I got older did I realize exactly what it was. I could feel it; I could control it and move it around inside my body. As a baby, it was just something to do, a way to keep myself from becoming too bored. (Because being a baby was boring. I only ever interacted with my parents.) What I was controlling at that age was my magic. That control I had, it would later on cause my parents to think that I wasn't magical, seeing as there were no accidental bursts of it.

Magic couldn't be described. It was like a blanket, warm and comfy and secure. Or like caffeine, energizing and awakening. At first, I was cautious, but as nothing happened when I moved it around inside myself, I grew bolder. This would be extremely helpful, but also crippling, when I got older. Playing around with my magic so much allowed me to get pretty good control with it. Not to mention, it was _everywhere. _It was in the air, in the people, in nature. Many times, I thought I was drowning. But like everything else, I grew used to it.

It was only when I reached my seventh month did my vision clear up. And when it did... well, I was starting to get a nagging suspicion as to where I was. I could tell I was in England, seeing as my parents' accents gave that away. But that wasn't quite right. There were things that shouldn't have been possible. The plates washing themselves, pots being stirred with no one there, the mirror that talked back.

I tried to dismiss it as just my imagination, but as I got older, the evidence grew. My father came home wearing white robes, and I had seen his wand.

It wasn't until the day that he took me to London and into Diagon Alley (after nearly choking because there was so _much_ magic in the air) that I couldn't deny it anymore. I was somewhere I had read in a book, and had watched movies about.

I was in the Harry Potter world.

_Fuck_.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: New

_"Information is not knowledge."_ ~Albert Einstein

* * *

When I had worked that out, and the initial shock had ebbed just the slightest bit, I wasn't exactly ecstatic.

Given the fact that I often caught the words 'Death Eaters' in many hurried, worried conversations between my parents, I had figured pretty much in what kind of timeline I was. They also never mentioned a 'Harry Potter' which led me to cement my suspicion that I was born during Voldermort's first rise to power.

I knew he would lose but that didn't comfort me in the slightest, because if one were to follow the logic that everything would be the same as the books; that meant he would come back.

Not to mention, I didn't even know if things would be the same. I would be in Harry's generation since I was but a few months older than him. If memory served, he was born in the summer. But an Elizabeh Stormbrew had never been mentioned. Obviously I was a difference. A Stormbrew family hadn't been mentioned at all either, but I could dissmiss that because there had been many pureblood families, just not as wealthy or influential as the truly old ones were. My dad came from a 5th generation pureblood family, not like the Malfoys or the Blacks who could be traced back centuries.

In a situation like this, I had decided, ignorance would have surely been bliss. But...could I change things? It was a thought that often entered my mind.

I knew what was coming, but could I _realistically_ change anything? Did I even knew what to try and alter? Would my interference make it better? And if it made it worse, could I live with the knowledge that I, however indirectly it might have been, have caused more deaths?

I didn't know. So for the most part, I decided to push that out of my mind. I knew that doing that wouldn't solve the problem, and that I was coward. I didn't want to do anything because it hadn't intruded on my nice and quite life. It hadn't affected me. It hadn't affected my parents ( I had gotten comfortable calling them that) at all.

When it finally did was when I came to my decision.

During the summer, after I had turned one and I had begun speaking small words ( I had already known English, so I was just waiting for my vocal chords to develop), Dad had come home from work with a livid scar from his cheek to his jaw, just below his eye. It had healed mostly, but it was still an angry red.

Seeing it had confused me. My Dad was a Healer ( the white robes he came home in made a lot more sense after finding that out), but he hadn't healed it. I also didn't understand. How could he have gotten that? Even if the Wizarding community was in distraught, Dad had never been in the front lines.

Because he was a skilled healer, he only ever saw the aftermath. But he was probably nervous about how we would react. Rebecca had only hugged him tighter than normal, but she didn't raise a fuss. More than likely, she had thought 'close call.' I had only toddled to him, and got him to pick me up. It did make him look fierce, which I would later find out he could be and very much so, but I had only ever known him as kind and gentle.

"Daddy," I had gurgled, running my pudgy toddler fingers over it. He had hugged me tightly.

Later, at night, I found out that Voldemort had orchestrated an attack on St. Mungos from my parents' conversation after they had thought I was asleep. Dad had been caught in the crossfire as he had tried getting patients away, but hadn't been injured much. He had been lucky the slicing curse hadn't gotten his eye. It couldn't have been healed completely because it had been a dark spell.

That was the push I had needed. I decided that I would do everything I could to make sure Voldmort or his followers couldn't hurt my family. I wasn't stupid; I knew it would be nearly impossible. But it didn't mean _impossible_, just nearly. At the very least, I would damn well make sure I could run and make it out alive. That they would make it out alive.

A few weeks later, my parents and the whole community celebrated as word got out that Voldemort had been beaten.

* * *

Aside from that daunting goal, those first few years of my life were pleasant.

Rebecca, mum, had been delighted at having a little girl. She especially loved dressing me up and braiding my hair in many intricate hairstyles, but I didn't mind much. She had good taste, choosing colors that complimented my dark hair and tan skin.

She was a witch from Central America that had come to England on vacation, where she had met my dad. They had been about 20, and had married not too long after mum had fallen pregnant. Her parents had both been 3rd generation purebloods. She had curly light brown hair, hazel eyes, and tan skin.

Dad on the other hand had black hair, fair skin, and stormy blue eyes ( I took after him in hair and eye color only, everything else was mum) which his side of the family all had. His family name came from them, and the fact that they worked with magical sea travel. Dad said that it hadn't been for him and had decided to become a Healer instead.

A thing that I found strange and interesting was that mum made me do a series of stretches and yoga movements after I turned two, mostly in the mornings. They helped make my body flexible and limber. When I asked about it, she had huffed at being questioned, but had explained that things were much more physical in the magical community of her home. The wizards there fought with much more than wands and spells, especially with all the gangs(1) around. While the wizards here found it vulgar, mum had said she wouldn't stop from teaching me how to fight(2) because it would be an advantage. It was better starting young apparently. I suppose that even though Voldemort was gone, she was still worried about me being hurt.

The interesting part about it was how different the magical communities of the world were. And the fact that there was more than just the one in the UK. It did make sense. Britain couldn't have been the only ones to have wizards. And that it also made sense that the communities would be influenced by the countries they were in.

* * *

Seeing as there wasn't much for me to do, I spent many days toddling around the house, and making someone read to me. I could read, because it was English (and not having to learn an entirely new language had been a blessing) but I had to pretend I didn't. Children weren't supposed to be that smart, after all.

I enjoyed sitting on mum or dad's lap, cuddling up to them as they read me stories and trying to sound out the words. While I could read, my vocal facilities still had to get better.

I didn't play much with other children, seeing as I was mentally older. I got bored much to easily, but it was awkward trying to talk to kids. I have no doubt that I came across as an odd and shrewd child, but I couldn't help it. I much preferred spending time with mum as she taught me how to cook and bake.

Or spend time fiddling with my magic. I couldn't do much with it, seeing as I needed a wand to conduct it through to make spells. All I could really do was move it around to different parts of my body. I couldn't make it leave my body without a wand guiding it. It made me realize just why wand less magic was pretty damn _legendary_ to do. I wasn't anywhere able to being that good. More than likely, I never would be.

* * *

When I was about 6 and a half, maybe seven, was when I met my first friend.

Mum had taken me with her when she went to take Dad his lunch at St. Mungos. He had greeted us warmly, and that day, his patient was Xenophilius.

Nothing bad, just a regular checkup, mum had said. My focus hadn't been on that. No, what I was focused on was the cute little girl in the arms of a pretty blond woman standing next to Xenophilius. I figured that the little girl was Luna, and the woman must have been her mom. Suddenly nervous as this was the first absolute proof that I was in Harry's generation, and not just some random point in time, all I could do was wave and say,"Hi."

Yes, I had come to that conclusion before, but it was different _knowing_ than it was actually _seeing_ it.

It suddenly made everything all the more real. This wasn't just some dream, illusion, or whatever. That made a shiver go down my spine. The knowledge I had could very well make this world better or damn it.

It was a humbling and very terrifying thought.

Luna was an airy girl, and she was already taking after her dad's eccentricities. After the awkward greeting, Luna and I struck a conversation pretty quickly. She was different from other kids already, and quite intelligent for her age. She definitely belonged in Ravenclaw. I enjoyed listening to her talk about the creatures her dad wrote about. I wasn't sure they were real, but for all I knew, they could be. I mean my entire existence here was pretty unbelievable too.

Thus friendship was born.

I liked spending time with her, and mum was absolutely pleased that I had found a friend. She was often invited over to our house to play, and I was equally welcomed in hers. Everything was tranquil, like a pond. But soon a pebble was thrown in, causing ripples in my quite life.

* * *

(1) Magical gangs inspired by the reign of Grindelwald. They were the predecessors of the non magical people gangs, which became a problem in the 90s in Central America.

(2) Nothing like martial arts. Just things like how to throw a punch correctly, using someone's force against them, ect.

R&R

Hope you liked it!


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